Play the Part
by Henrietta R. Hippo
Summary: It was nine years ago that Feliciano lost his grandpa, and nine years since his brother Lovino last cracked a smile. Now the past has come back to haunt them, and Feliciano realises just how big it really is. Could this man with blond hair that he keeps seeing in his dreams and in photographs be the key to his grandpa's disappearance? Germany/Italy
1. Chapter 1

**Title: Play the Part  
****  
Pairings: Germany/Italy, one-sided Germania/Rome**

****It was nine years ago that Feliciano lost his grandpa, and nine years since his brother last cracked a smile. Now the past has come back to haunt them, and Feliciano realises just how big it really is; could this man with blond hair he keeps seeing in his dreams and in photographs be the key to his grandpa's disappearance? ****

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The six-story block of desolate flats had never looked quite so bleak to Feliciano before as it did that evening. Ever the cheery optimist; the Italian was nothing but pleased with his and his brother's small, two-bedroom flat on the fourth floor of this grimy, graffiti strewn structure. That same ginger cat that often greeted Feliciano on his way home from work was waiting, as always, in the small alley for him beside that murky puddle that was ever present on the pavement, even on scorching summer days that lit up the building's dazzling off-white paint and made it a complete eyesore for any unsuspecting passers by. Pookie, the Italian had affectionately named the stray, sat up when the man approached and moved towards his outstretched hand for a scratch behind the ear. The cat had been kept waiting longer than usual for his stroke and leftover ham sandwiches from Feliciano that day; by the time the man had arrived the sun had well and truly vanished below the horizon.

Feliciano zipped up his bag after distributing his leftovers, patted Pookie once more before letting himself into the side entrance of the building. The familiar stench of rubbish bags and urine greeted his senses and the Italian hurried to the lift opposite and rang for it. He waited patiently yet with that ever present uneasiness that came with living in a building with such unpredictable occupants. It hadn't been that long ago that Feliciano had been whisked to the emergency room following a drunken row with one of the downstairs neighbours over a disagreement with his girlfriend. From what the young man could pick up on during his intoxicated ramblings; this man's girl had apparently let slip that she had somewhat of an infatuation for Feliciano, something he found rather difficult to take as a compliment.

All was still, however, that night and surprisingly quiet. No coked up madman jumped into the lift with him at the last second and demanded Feliciano give up his shoes to him -and how the young man wished that that were something he'd just made up and not a personal experience-, no middle aged woman with her dozen and a half kids piled in after him, clamouring at his feet and telling him all about how much of a nice man he was whilst their mother batted her eyes and gave him rather a disturbing 'come hither' look. Feliciano often wondered what it would be like to have normal neighbours again. But he reasoned that, in such a decrepit, government owned building, you weren't likely to meet people you could trust.

Feliciano was graced with having the lift all to himself; the urine smell was distressingly potent in the confined space and he held his breath for the duration of the ride up to the fourth floor. The Italian clutched his bag tightly as the lift came to a shuddering, creaky halt and released his hold only when the doors slid open and the fourth floor corridor was shown to be empty. Realising just how late Feliciano was when he glimpsed the dark sky out of the narrow glass window at the end of the hall; the Italian practically ran to the flat marked number eight and jammed his keys into the door. Any hope that his older brother would be fast asleep and unaware of his return were dashed before he'd even pushed the heavy door open.

"Why are you so late?" were the scornful words that greeted Feliciano the moment his key unlocked the door.

Feliciano smiled weakly as he shuffled into the dim light of the kitchen where the foul glare of his sibling watched him. "I was on the close." came the meek reply. Feliciano eyed the kitchen counter and felt a pang of guilt to see the stone-cold plate of tagliatelle that had been waiting for him.

Lovino gave a grunt of annoyance and rubbed his tired eyes, "Never this late, isn't there some kind of law against forcing people to work this many extra hours at a time?" the short Italian was already dressed in his jogging bottoms and vest top, ready for bed.

Feliciano looked at his brother sadly, "You didn't have to wait up for me, fratello." he dropped his bag by the door and went to offer the man a hug, but was met with a rather stilted look.

"Of course I did, it's not safe around this neighbourhood, I was this close to calling the police." Lovino held up his index finger and thumb in his brother's face, and Feliciano couldn't help but notice with yet another pang, how they trembled ever so slightly.

"I'm sorry." Feliciano offered quietly, "Next time I'll just tell them I can't stay."

"No." Lovino almost growled with frustration, but whether at him or himself, the Italian couldn't decipher, "Don't go getting yourself fired, just eat your damn dinner and go to bed."

Lovino dodged another hug automatically and dropped himself onto the sofa in the living room, Feliciano knew it to be pointless insisting he get some sleep, even though he looked like he desperately needed it, until he himself was ready to go to bed as well. The Italian sighed, scooped up the cold dish on the counter and shoved it in the microwave.

"It won't be nearly as good after re-heating it..." Lovino grumbled from the cushions, running a hand through his dark brown hair.

Feliciano jumped up onto one of the bar stools whilst his pasta slowly rotated behind him, "I said I was sorry." he tried asserting himself further only to revert back to his quiet mumble when Lovino turned on the sofa to glare at him. "I didn't mean to take so long."

"It's stupid." Lovino shook his head, lifting himself up to straddle the arm of the sofa. "Your shift was supposed to finish at eight, it's almost midnight...I thought that Cara girl was on close?" he asked slowly.

Feliciano shrugged a little too aggressively, "I don't know, she needed extra help closing up so I stayed."

"Why does it take over three hours to close up a café?" Lovino spoke slowly, getting to his feet.

Feliciano spun around on the stool to face the microwave, his heart started to drum faster beneath his work apron. "We had an incident...kids threw up everywhere, big mess, we had to disinfect everything." he blurted out nervously, the Italian hopped down and stood with his arms folded directly in font of the microwave, watching his food rotate with intensity.

The Italian could feel his older brother standing behind him, and see his dark stare in the reflection on the glass from over his shoulder. "Feliciano, it does not take three hours to clean up a place as small as that, no matter how much those kids threw up." the cold tone Lovino took with his brother left no doubt in Feliciano's mind that he knew he was lying to him.

Feliciano swallowed slowly, watching his pasta intently through the glass window. "...it was a big mess." he muttered pathetically, his inventiveness when it came to fibbing had never been up to scratch.

For a few tense minutes; Lovino and Feliciano stood, one in front of the other, neither willing to back down or admit defeat, although the younger of the two came very close. He could feel his brother's gaze burning into the back of his head but he remained strong and resilient for once, after all he'd had quite a lot of practice over the last nine years.

Eventually, and to Feliciano's surprise, it was Lovino who moved first. He stepped back and went to the other side of the counter and Feliciano sighed with relief just as the microwaved beeped at him and came to a stop. Before he could even retrieve his steaming food, however; Feliciano heard a rustling noise behind him, and the sound a zip being slid open.

"Lovino!" Feliciano cried, he spun around and saw what he feared, his older brother had a hold of his bag and was rooting around inside.

"I knew you were hiding something!" Lovino snapped, he twisted himself around the backpack as Feliciano dived across the counter to reach for it.

"Give it back! I'm not hiding anything!" Feliciano knew it was already a lost battle, he fell to the kitchen floor as Lovino hopped out of his way and ran to the living room, desperately trying to find what Feliciano desperately wanted to keep hidden.

Lovino began piling his brother's belongings onto the floor and scrambled through the array of pens, papers, water bottle and other bits and bobs before he found what he was looking for. The Italian grabbed a battered photograph that had been stuffed right at the very bottom of the bag and jumped up onto the sofa, holding it up in front of his face which had fallen into a deep grimace.

"For fuck sake, Feliciano..." Lovino didn't sound angry or enraged, he just sounded tired.

Feliciano got up from the floor, hanging his head rather sheepishly, "Lovino, I can explain-"

"You went back to the old house again, didn't you?" his brother asked him, his brown eyes burning into the photo in his hand.

Feliciano sighed, he reached up for his brother's hand but Lovino dodged away, keeping a tight grip on the photograph. "Lovino I just wanted to look around, collect some things that were left." he said gently.

"You're not allowed to be there, you idiot. Do you want to be arrested again?" the Italian's voice wavered noticeably and he cleared his throat. "What do you want with this piece of crap, anyway?" he muttered, haphazardly flicking the photo away from him and jumping down from the sofa. Feliciano hurried to catch it before it touched the ground, carefully smoothing it out. Lovino watched him and sighed with frustration. "Feliciano, don't go back there again, I mean it. I'm going to bed." the Italian spoke softly, almost without any conviction. Lovino distractedly tidied the coffee table in front of him before sloping off towards the bedrooms.

Feliciano stared after him, his body felt strangely numb and he blurted out his words before he could stop himself. "I don't hate him, Lovino."

His brother stopped just short of his bedroom door but didn't turn to look at him. "I know you don't."

"I...I just think there's more to it." Feliciano grappled on, knowing he was digging where he really shouldn't. "I don't think we fully understand what happened, and I want to know, Lovino."

"Fine." his brother barely even spoke, he pushed open the door in front of him rather violently. "Goodnight."

"Lovino," Feliciano walked towards him, "why can't we ever talk about it-"

"I SAID," Lovino burst out suddenly, halting Feliciano on the spot; the Italian took a deep breath and composed himself. "...goodnight." he finished softly, closing the door behind him, but not without revealing his shining eyes to his brother for a split second before he left for bed.

Feliciano stared at the closed door for a few moments before returning to the kitchen for his pasta which, for once, he didn't really have the stomach for. He kept hold of the photograph carefully with his thumb and index finger in one hand whilst he ate, managing to polish off the entire bowl despite his unease. Feliciano cleaned up the kitchen, re-packed his bag, turned off the lights and headed to his bedroom, momentarily stopping outside of his brother's room to press his ear against the door and listen. He heard Lovino's bedsprings creak as he tossed and turned during another restless night; the Italian hesitated, wanting to knock and see if he could find some way to have the discussion he'd wanted to have for years. His heart wouldn't allow it. Even the mere mention sent his brother off into an emotional rampage and he couldn't bear to see it.

Instead he retired into his own, smaller room, hung up his jacket and bag on the hook by the door, navigated his way past the tower of cardboard boxes and flopped down onto his narrow bed in the corner. Feliciano didn't bother with the light, or even getting undressed for bed. He lay, face down for a long while, the photo still in hand, just listening to the traffic buzzing outside, even at this hour. Occasionally the sound of laughter and shouts could be heard from people returning to the building after a heavy night of drinking, but he didn't hear Lovino screaming at them to be quiet from out of his bedroom window this time.

It was almost one in the morning when Feliciano finally sat up, rather dizzy with tiredness. He kicked off his shoes and moved towards the boxes he'd neglected to unpack since moving in. Even though he'd had almost a year to do so. In the box on top he retrieved his photo album, a nice leather bound one he'd bought last month to house the memories Feliciano had been collecting over time. It wasn't even half full yet, and most of the pages only had one or two pictures slotted into each one. Feliciano flicked carefully through the album until he came to a clean page where he slid his newly acquired photograph into the opaque casing. The corner was slightly bent out of shape from where Lovino had been holding it and Feliciano closed the album gently to smooth out this crease.

It was only during the night time that the Italian had the urge to sort out his room, he lost the will in the day; he still needed to set up the bookcase he'd bought several months ago since their last flat hadn't come with one, neither did this one. The parts were all there in a box at the end of Feliciano's bed, he'd even purchased a hammer and screwdriver ready to build it himself but had lost the drive to do so almost as soon as he'd started. It didn't matter so much for him to own a bookcase, he only had his album, a few recipe books and a couple of old children's stories that Lovino read to him as a boy. Still, it would be nice to have something more to fill the empty space with.

Feliciano sighed, finally disrobed and crawled back into bed. The heating had gone off again in the early evening and it was freezing cold and almost impossible to get comfy. The Italian hadn't had a good nights sleep in a very long time, and not once whilst living in this apartment. Nine years didn't seem that long on paper, but to him it felt like a lifetime ago; a lifetime of unanswered questions and doubt, of pain and confusion and a family torn apart. Feliciano's promise to himself was the same that night as it had been since that night nine years ago. Somehow, and some way; he would find out what had happened to his grandfather.

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**My first fanfic in over a year, forgive me if I'm a little rusty. Not sure how long it's going to be, may add a couple more pairings later, let me know what you think so far, rating may change to M. It's good to be back.**

**Reviews are love :)**


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: Play the Part**

** Pairings: Germany/Italy, one-sided Germania/Rome**

**It was nine years ago that Feliciano lost his grandpa, and nine**** years since his brother last cracked a smile. Now the past has come back to haunt them, and Feliciano realises just how big it really is; could this man with blond hair he keeps seeing in his dreams and in photographs be the key to his grandpa's disappearance?**

* * *

_There was always something so eerie about being left alone as a child, even with an older sibling watching over from the kitchen as he microwaved some beans in a bowl after struggling for ten minutes to open the tin with a knife. Lovino hid his bleeding fingers that had been sliced by the sharp edges of the tin whilst his little brother sat quietly on the rug in front of the fireplace, drawing with crayons. He would eventually come over; one hand behind his back that had been wrapped up in kitchen roll, and then they'd sit together in front of the motionless coals and eat the warm beans with a spoon. _

"_I'll put you to bed when you're done." his voice was clear, close._

"_I want to stay up." _

"_No, Feliciano." always the stern tone, "It's bed time."_

"_I'm never awake to see him home."_

"_I know." a waver, a undetectable stammer, "That's the point."_

"_But-" _

"Feliciano."

"_..it's not fair-"_

"Feliciano."

"_..why don't I get to see-"_

"Feliciano!"

The Italian woke with a jolt and a noise of surprise to find Lovino standing over him, dressed up for work and holding out the phone towards him.

"It's that Cara, she's calling from work." Lovino handed his dazed brother the phone and straightened up, checking his watch. "I'll be late for my class if I don't leave right now, I'll see you later. Don't be late home." the Italian called after him, already halfway out of the flat before Feliciano even lifted the phone to his ear.

"Hello?" Feliciano murmured into the device with a yawn.

"Hi Feliciano, it's Cara." the usually cheerful, sweet ringing voice of his co-worker sounded somewhat stilted from the other end.

"Ciao, is everything okay? I thought I wasn't supposed to be in until this afternoon-" the Italian shot up in bed, his eyes wide. "did I get the wrong day? Am I late?" he was already up and rummaging through his underwear drawer before he heard her sigh on the other end and he stopped moving to listen.

"No, I know. But listen, I'm in the bathroom right now, just thought I should warn you that Elizaveta is pissed with you." the young woman spoke quickly, her voice rather muffled from trying to conceal the fact that she was on the phone.

"What, why?"

"Well she's not happy that you left early yesterday."

"Oh...I thought you said you would cover for me."

"I did! It's just that some drunk guy came in here when we were about to close up and made a huge mess, knocked everything off the counters and out of the fridge, he even got into the stock room and was just being a complete dick." Cara babbled with frustration. "The police had to be called and everything! Anyway, it took forever to clean up after him and Elizaveta was so annoyed that there was no one to help me and her cause you and that new guy had gone home early so...yeah, I don't think she's happy with you."

Feliciano sighed, carefully pulling on a pair of boxers with one hand whilst gripping the phone to his ear with the other. "Sometimes I don't think she ever is...I guess I'll come in now then." he muttered.

"I think that would be best, the stock room is still a mess and no one is free to tidy it." Cara's voice trailed off slightly and Feliciano heard a door being unlatched, "I really have to go, I'll see you in a bit." the phone cut off before the Italian could voice a response.

Feliciano let the phone slip from his fingers and drop to the floor as he lay his tired head back down in bed for a few long moments. He had been looking forward to his late morning immensely that week and, as much as he did feel he owed it to Cara, he certainly wasn't feeling up to going into work so early. The Italian rubbed his amber eyes open and stared blearily up at the peeling ceiling above his head for a few seconds before dragging his fatigued body up and out of bed. Feliciano doused himself in deodorant for a make-shift shower, pulled on his clothes from last night and grabbed a piece of toast his brother had made for him off the kitchen table on his way out of the door.

The Italian took the stairs for a change in an attempt to energise himself by running full pelt down four flights, his backpack swinging widely at his side. Despite his sudden onset of morning hunger, Feliciano was unable to quell the guilt inside him to see a homeless man squatting in the alley where his cat normally would whilst he was holding onto a fresh piece of toast. Although immediately regretting it, and wishing he wouldn't be so easily taken advantage of, the Italian handed his breakfast over as he sped past. The man grunted a nod of thanks, which was just about enough to keep Feliciano from demanding it back.

Once Feliciano was far enough away from his temporary home and into the town it actually wasn't quite the dodgy, backwash neighbourhood that his brother claimed it to be. In fact in some areas, such as the main shopping area where he worked as a barista; it was actually a rather sweet town. Old fashioned and cute, so long as you avoided certain dark corners that popped up occasionally. It was a strange mismatched sort of place, like two towns had collided, – a sunshiny, adorable, rustic village, and a grimy, backstreet, crime infested pit - both mashed together to make one unusual place to live.

The sky was wonderfully clear with a slight smattering of clouds that Feliciano couldn't fully enjoy with the thought of his upcoming lecture from the manager, yet how was he to know what would happen at the café after he'd left? Admittedly, he always felt he was being rather unfair to poor Cara and the other employees when he took early leave, if only they knew the circumstances perhaps he wouldn't feel like such a burden to them. He knew his brother was right, however, Feliciano would certainly be fired if he kept it up.

The café was a good twenty minutes away but Feliciano's bus pass had expired over three weeks ago and he was far to nervous and meek to try to bustle his way on without paying. He had just come to the end of the long, straight road up from his block of flats to the edge of the main city centre when a familiar, tired looking face appeared around the corner of the police station he was passing.

"Oh." the man awkwardly blurted out, stepping from side to side for a moment in front of Feliciano. "Hi, hi Feliciano." the British police detective laughed rather nervously, forcing himself to stop the bizarre little dance he was doing.

"Hi Arthur." Feliciano said softly to his old acquaintance. Arthur was older than Feliciano, he was of slim build, very pale and had a mop of messy blond hair and rather fetching green eyes. Feliciano had known him since he was a child, but it had been a while since they'd last spoke.

Arthur continued to strain a smile, not quite able to meet his gaze, "It's good to see you." the Brit muttered somewhere in his direction. After a long silence, where neither he nor the Italian moved to get out of each other's way; Arthur rubbed his eyes, and sighed. "Look Feliciano," he said firmly, finally meeting his eyes, "I know why you're here but there's nothing else I can do for you at this time, anyway as it stands I've got a full schedule today and I really don't have any time to talk so if you like you can come back another time but right now-"

"Arthur, Arthur," Feliciano stopped the man's ramblings, "It's okay, I'm just on my way to work, I wasn't here to see you."

"Oh." Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and then seemed a little embarrassed. "Sorry about that. I hope you have a nice day Feliciano." the Brit tipped his hat in that overly polite way he often did to take his leave.

Feliciano smiled weakly, "Say hi to Francis for me." he called behind him as Arthur jogged up the steps of the police station.

Arthur gave him a brief smile in acknowledgement of his request before he disappeared into the building, looking rather blessed to be away from him. Feliciano tried not to take this personally, he knew Arthur didn't dislike him in any way, he hoped so at least; he was just a busy man who needed to get on with things, the Italian knew that.

Feliciano carried on his journey, walking determinedly towards his destination whilst trying to distract his mind from being filled with nostalgia at seeing the Brit. It was far too early in the morning to depress himself by thinking about it, he needed to remain as cheerful and upbeat as possible when dealing with his manager; Elizaveta hated it when her employees were dismal. Even though Cara had told him she was angry, Feliciano knew it wouldn't be something he couldn't talk his way around. Elizaveta wasn't a mean person, she was passionate, passionate about her business and clearly upset over the mess and mayhem from last night that Feliciano wasn't there to help with.

The café sat in between a bank and a bookshop, and as a result the majority of its customers were either disgruntled, sweaty people tired from their long, pointless bank appointments; or happy, chilled out people enjoying a drink whilst they read their new book purchase. It was a good mix, the place was often full inside and out so there was never really a dull moment. Not that working at The Vixen was something Feliciano wanting to be doing for the rest of his life, but with no savings for university or any other educational prospects the young man didn't really have any other options, for now at least.

"You're here early." was what greeted the Italian when he stepped over the threshold into the bustling café.

Feliciano smiled wearily, trying to seem sincere. "I heard about the incident last night, thought you could use an extra hand around here." he told his Hungarian manager. Elizaveta was a young woman of just twenty-five, she'd bought the café from a friend before he moved abroad when she was only nineteen and had been running it single-handedly ever since. She was incredibly beautiful, with long, wavy brunette hair, sweet green eyes and an air of general kindness and honesty. The manager was often asked after by male customers requesting dates and had even received a couple of marriage proposals in the time Feliciano had worked there, they were always turned down though, of course.

Elizaveta didn't look her usual friendly self at that moment whilst talking to her young employee, yet she couldn't stop her eyes from softening after Feliciano spoke. "Last night would have been more useful." she muttered, handing Feliciano a broom from behind the counter. "But I guess it's better late than never, you can clean up the stock room please." the Hungarian spoke in that professional manner she saved for the view of customers but her grateful smile filled Feliciano with reassurance and he complied, giving Cara a brief nod as he passed the service counter where she was serving drinks, he went through the staff door beside the toilets into the back room.

Cara hadn't been over exaggerating in her outrage at the state of the place. The drunk patron had made quick work of the stock room by the looks of things, seemingly wanting to cause as much havoc and damage as possible for some reason. The stock room housed the coffee beans and cups, as well as spare parts for the coffee machines and the ingredients used for sandwiches that Feliciano or someone usually made daily. Two barrels of coffee beans had been smashed to bits and the beans lay in large heaps on the floor; cups and cup sleeves had been poured out of their boxes, some were nestled in the coffee beans and others were ripped apart and now useless; lettuce heads and tuna cans that were kept in the fridge, which was still wide open, lay strewn across the floor at the Italian's feet.

For a few long moments, Feliciano just stared at the mess, his mind ever so slowly working. He lay the broom against the wall and closed the fridge door, with some difficulty, hitched his trousers up around his ankles and waded his way through the turmoil to get to the coffee bean barrels. He spent the next three hours in the stock room cleaning up, empting the unusable food into bin bags and trying to salvage what could be saved. It was dimly lit inside the small room, there were no windows, and it made the Italian rather drowsy as he worked, as if it were still early morning and his sleep had been disrupted. By the time he'd swept up all of the coffee beans and collected all of the cups still in workable condition Feliciano felt unusually exhausted. He sat on one of the barrels in the corner that had been left untouched and leant back against the wall, resting his head against the shelf, he closed his tired eyes for just a brief moment...

"_I don't want you two to panic, okay? You're not in trouble." Arthur took a seat opposite the two children, he was holding onto a file and trying to look as none threatening as possible._

"_Oui, we're not 'ere to hurt you, just talk." another man said, he was leaning back against a closed door, arms folded across his chest. _

_Feliciano felt a hand take his under the table and squeeze it. "Where's our grandfather?" Lovino asked the Brit, his pre-pubescent voice squeaked quietly._

"_We need to ask you some questions, okay?" Arthur repeated, carefully avoiding the question. "Could you do that for us?" he took out a small, black box from his pocket and placed in on the kitchen table and pressed the record button._

"_Why?" Lovino's voice quivered, his eyes were becoming bright with unshed tears but the older boy tried to be defiant, Feliciano was already sobbing, whether out of fear or confusion, he wasn't sure._

_Arthur, on some kind of fatherly instinct, got up and went to Feliciano's side. Lovino grabbed his brother's arm and tugged him away from the detective as he went to console him. Arthur smiled sadly, and took a small handful of sweets out of his other pocket. "Here." he placed them on the table in front of the boys. "Why don't you have those whilst you talk to us, they'll make you feel better."_

"_Arthur zis iz taking too long." Francis scorned the other man, he jumped into the seat his colleague had been sat in, rummaging through the file left on the table. _

"_Francis, we need to be considerate, they're just children." the Brit hissed quietly from where he was kneeling beside the Italian brothers._

"_If we don't get the information soon it'll be too late." the Frenchman shot back, he produced a large photograph from the file and held it up to Feliciano and Lovino. "Boys, do you know zis man?"_

_Arthur gently touched Feliciano's arm,"Don't worry if you don't, we just need to know if you've ever seen him before, okay?"_

"_Of course they 'ave, we know he's been 'ere."_

"_Francis please stop being an arse, you're going about this the wrong way."_

"_I just want to get information, I don't care if they're kids!"_

"_You're not being sensitive to the case!"_

"_Zere's no time for sensitivity!"_

_The argument slowly faded out and became nothing more than drowned out voices that sounded distant and incoherent, as though they were trying to compete with the noise of groups of people sat in a café. Lovino seemed to vanish, even the kitchen was becoming unrecognisable. But the photograph in the Frenchman's hands was hanging there in Feliciano's vision as clear as day. A face. A close up of a very familiar, haunting face. The Italian had not seen that face in real life for a long, long time. In fact sometimes he wasn't even sure he had ever met that face in real life, or whether he'd just been so transfixed by it, by that man, that he'd invented a scenario in his mind where he had encountered him before. Light, almost pale you could call it, blue eyes that cut right through the small boy, and long, sleek-_

"Feliciano?" the Italian woke with a jump that almost toppled the barrel right over as he slid off, he managed to catch it just before the lid loosened and came off. Elizaveta was standing in the doorway, watching him carefully.

"Sorry, I was just resting." Feliciano said hurriedly, he grabbed the broom and made a show of sweeping the clean floor.

"It's okay, you've worked hard I can see." she smiled at the young man, any grouchiness she felt towards him that morning had clearly been withdrawn when she saw the immaculate state of the stock room.

Feliciano smiled weakly, rubbing his eyes. "Grazie, I think I'm done in here now."

"Yes, I would send you out to the front but that Simon boy has showed up at last. Your actual shift for today started about two hours ago but if you like you can head home early for today, I don't think we need you." the Hungarian said, tucking her long hair back into the yellow bandanna she often wore.

"Oh, okay, thank you." Feliciano wasn't sure whether he was glad of this or not.

"Please keep your phone on, just in case there's another incident and I need you back." Elizaveta grinned, the first instant the Italian had seen her act like herself all day. "Have a nice afternoon off, I'll see you tomorrow."

Feliciano left work just before two o clock, he hadn't had so much free time to himself in months. Usually the Hungarian liked to keep him around as she'd often been told by customers that he made the best coffee and the tastiest sandwiches; but maybe she had sensed something wasn't quite right with him and that he needed to leave, quite possibly the fact that he'd fallen asleep for a good hour in the stock room. Although that being said, the Italian wasn't really sure what to do with himself now, he was so used to working constantly that he didn't really have any hobbies to occupy himself with and he didn't really have any friends, most had left for university.

He stopped dead on the other side of the road across from the The Vixen and stared straight ahead of him. His brother's stark warning from the night before was playing in his mind and he knew he was going to regret doing what he was thinking at that moment. Feliciano didn't care, Lovino didn't know he had left work this early, there was plenty of time for him to go and for him to return to the flat without his brother knowing. The Italian had made up his mind, he was going to go home.

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**I love Arthur as a police/detective person **

**Reviews are love :)**


	3. Chapter 3

**Title: Play the Part  
****  
Pairings: Germany/Italy  
**

****It was nine years ago that Feliciano lost his grandpa, and nine years since his brother last cracked a smile. Now the past has come back to haunt them, and Feliciano realises just how big it really is; could this man with blond hair he keeps seeing in his dreams and in photographs be the key to his grandpa's disappearance? ****

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Roe Lane had been a desolate wasteland ever since that day nine years ago. Not that it was literally a deserted neighbourhood; in fact most of the households that lined the road from either side still had occupants to this day. Small families, retired elderly couples and lonely widows mainly, with the occasional bachelor comfortably squatting in the cheapest residence until he was wrangled by a gold band and shipped off closer to town. The lane sat a good hour or so away from where Feliciano lived now, and the area around it was pretty much vacant of any large chain supermarkets or shops of any kind; there was just fields and woodland. That was the way people liked it here.

However something within the close community had drastically changed that night Feliciano and his older brother left home without so much as a goodbye. Not many of their neighbours had vanished and hardly any new occupants had moved in in all that time. But those neighbours weren't the same people to Feliciano anymore. He could no longer content himself to skip up to the front door of Mr and Mrs Burton on a spring afternoon for cake and tea, or gather a group of the neighbourhood children for a picnic in the woods. They always saw him, whenever he wandered back where he really shouldn't. Upstairs curtains peeled open and curious gazes watched the young man walk alone down the pavement past their houses. Feliciano knew it must be one of them who ended up calling the police, but he couldn't think which one.

Feliciano and Lovino's abandoned home was the first house, number one Roe Lane, at the end overlooking a wheat field. It was in that small, three bedroom house that the two brothers had last seen their legal guardian, their grandfather. He was well-known to the neighbourhood, and his sudden disappearance nine years ago sent shock waves of horror and upset throughout the entire community. The two-story home had since been declared a crime scene and as such was never put back on the market. Faded, yellow, police warning tape was still wound around the wooden panels of the front gate and slapped across the peeling, blue font door; the ends of the tape wafted gently in the updraught that followed Feliciano as he carefully climbed over the low picket fence into the front garden. Rampant ivory had claimed the front of the house, covering a vast amount of the windows and had even curled into the cracks in the glass so the greenery crept into the upstairs bedrooms. Feliciano moved hurriedly around the smashed pave stones to the door, lest he be seen by nosey onlookers; he gave the flimsy thing a light push and it dragged open.

The stale aroma of mould and dry rot greeted the young man as he stepped over the threshold. He let the door gently close behind him, where it wobbled dangerously on its hinges, and let the rather bleak nostalgia wash over him. A narrow staircase, that was jammed up against the far wall stood in front of Feliciano; the kitchen to the left and the living room to the right. Most of the furniture, at least the bits that hadn't been stolen over the years, were in dire condition. The leather on the sofa that still remained was dropping off; a family of rats most likely nestled in between the cushions. The television had long vanished, leaving a deep imprint in the maroon carpet; the fire-place had been boarded up in a feeble attempt to stop roof-top break ins, and the ivory that glossed over the living room windows cast an eerie green glow about the small room.

"It seems smaller every time..." Feliciano murmured to himself, hitching his bag up further onto his shoulders.

Though he had only visited the dwelling last night; it was only his tenth or so visit to the property in nine years. The first time he'd been back since moving out was when he was fourteen, five years after Feliciano had left. The young man hadn't been caught that time, going so far as to actually bring a sleeping bag and spend the night in his old bedroom, although the amount of trouble he found himself in when he returned to his brother and his new guardian far outweighed what might have occurred if he had been arrested...like he was on his eighth visit when he was seventeen.

Now a year older, although not much wiser; Feliciano refused to succumb to what he felt were frivolous rules. The young man couldn't fathom why his childhood home was still out-of-bounds to trespassers; the disappearance of his grandfather, whilst still an unsolved case, had not been investigated for over six years. No detectives or officers had searched the home in all that time, in fact the last instant that Feliciano could recall when investigators were snooping around was just under a year after his grandfather vanished. Why then, was this house a permanent crime scene? There was no more evidence to gather from the rubble and remains of Feliciano's home. Even if all that happened was that the place was rebuilt and put back up for sale at least then Feliciano could have some kind of closure, because being left in the state it was the young man couldn't resist the temptation of returning, regardless of the risks.

Was Feliciano hoping he'd miraculously unearth a piece of forgotten evidence, a vital clue that would directly lead to one of his only living relatives? He wasn't sure. The Italian never ventured into the dwelling with that thought in mind but he'd be lying if he said it didn't vaguely dance at the back of his mind as the tiniest possibility. Feliciano only ever returned, so he claimed, to collect bits of memorabilia for his album and collection of childhood remainders. He never took much, too afraid to disturb the delicate balance of chaos. But whenever he ventured this way he always managed to find at least one thing to grab; an old toy, a photograph, a door handle or an interesting shape of glass from one of the shattered windows.

Downstairs was never of particular interest to Feliciano unless he wanted to collect a piece of rusting cutlery or a mouldy sponge from the kitchen, so he did his usual venture upstairs. The young man always felt a lot like a piece of paper caught in a light breeze whenever he came home, floaty and flighty, like he wasn't really there. The steps creaked beneath his feet, louder than they did when he lived here, or maybe he was just listening more carefully. Feliciano glanced the sideboard as he reached the top and noted, as with every time he visited, the black scuff mark that was left by one of the shoes of one of the investigators whilst they were rapidly searching the home. He wasn't sure why, but the Italian always liked to check that it was still there; it was the only reminder that people were actually here at one point, that people actually cared.

Upstairs housed his and Lovino's old bedroom, his grandfather's bedroom, a bathroom and his grandfather's office. The striped wallpaper on the landing had faded from the pale blue hue it once was to an off white colour. Mould was growing in each corner of the ceiling from the damp drawn in from the rain and years of neglect. It never got any easier to see his childhood home in such a state, but Feliciano was grateful, at least, that it hadn't been knocked down.

As with the scuff mark; there were other imprints of the presence of investigators and police in his home. Parts of the carpet had been torn up during the frantic search; the drawers in the bedrooms had been wrenched from their compartments and rifled through, most of their contents still strewn across the floor; the computer from the office had been confiscated for evidence; some of Feliciano's bedroom floorboards had even been pulled up and searched under. Still to this day the young man wasn't entirely sure what the investigators had been looking for, he was too young at the time to be told anything and now that the investigation had come to an unsatisfying end it was unlikely he'd ever discover what clues they were trying to unearth.

Feliciano checked his watch rather uneasily, whilst he'd only been in the house a little while he was conscious of not dawdling too long. Lovino wouldn't expect him home for another three hours or so but it wasn't trouble from his aggravated sibling he worried about. The Italian would just grab one, maybe two, little things to take back with him and be on his way before anybody even knew he was here.

Last night he had found that old photograph of him, his brother and their grandfather at the beach in his grandfather's office under a pile of printing paper; but today the young man decided that his grandfather's bedroom was the place to go searching for memorabilia. His bedroom was the largest of the rooms upstairs, with a king sized bed, a walk in wardrobe and a door that led directly to the bathroom in the next room. The large mattress from the bed had been turned over in the search, drawers emptied and his dresser ransacked; the wardrobe was still full, however, of his old moth-eaten clothes no longer fit for use. Feliciano briefly foraged through the garments in the hope that there would be something he could take, he didn't yet own anything specifically used or worn by his grandfather.

The Italian had to hold his breath yet his eyes still watered and stung from the pungent odour of the ancient garments. Several sleeves fell from coats as he pushed them along on the rusty hangers, which squealed distressingly as they dragged across the brass rail. Finally deciding that there was nothing here he could salvage the young man dropped to his knees to see if there were any shoes buried in the back. Feliciano only managed to find a mangled pair of sandals and a surprisingly pristine shoe box which he opened hurriedly, expecting to find an expensive pair of laced up shoes. He did not expect to find a plastic bag containing a maroon red, white dotted scarf.

Feliciano removed the undamaged item from the bag and held it in both hands, it was incredibly soft to touch, possibly cashmere. He could not recall seeing his grandfather ever wearing a scarf of any kind, but the young man immediately took a liking to it. The Italian placed the now empty box back where he found it and wound the scarf around his neck. It still smelt a little stale but it was strangely comforting; the scarf was now Feliciano's favourite thing that he'd salvaged from his childhood home.

The young man felt sufficient enough with his find to leave, but not before replacing the mattress on the bed. It had been niggling at him for a while, every time he visited the home it was the one disturbed item that he just needed to put back into place. Now he was old enough and big enough to just about heave it, he would have done so last night had he not been in a hurry to get home. Feliciano knelt down and grabbed the lopsided end and began to shove it upwards towards the wooden frame. It proved more difficult than he imagined; the mattress was bigger than him and incredibly heavy, he had just about got it half way onto the frame when something dropped out of a small rip in the side of the fabric.

Feliciano let the mattress lay where it was and stared. A battered photograph had slipped out from its hiding place and was now lying at his feet on the grubby carpet. The young man's heart gave a tiny jolt. He hadn't ever discovered a photograph in his grandfather's bedroom before, as far as he was aware he'd only stored them in his office, and anything hidden inside a rip in a mattress clearly wasn't something he wanted people to find. The Italian leant down and retrieved it with trembling fingers and brought it up to his face. He almost let out an audible squeal at the sight of it. It wasn't anything truly terrifying, just his grandfather grinning and standing beside an old friend.

An old friend that had haunted Feliciano's dreams for the past nine years.

It was that same man, that blond man. The one Feliciano was never sure actually existed or if he'd simply invented him, although staring at this tattered captured moment left no doubt now that the man did indeed exist. The investigators had shown a photograph of him and asked Feliciano and his brother if they knew who he was when they were questioned; Feliciano had told them he didn't know, and that he'd never seen this man in his life. He knew it to be a lie, it couldn't just be photographs he was remembering, this man had been in his life before, he'd met him. He must have.

Everything had slowed down; Feliciano didn't know how long he stood there gazing completely dumbstruck at the photo in his hand. He only moved when a sudden loud ring sounded from his trouser pocket and the young man jumped violently at the intrusion before answering.

"H-Hello?" Feliciano cleared his throat, he wasn't prepared for how much his voice was shaking.

"I swear English people are the biggest idiots on this whole planet," Lovino's voice growled in his ear, "it took them nearly twenty minutes to learn the numbers one to ten in Italian, seriously what is wrong with these people and their inability to learn simple shit?"

Feliciano let out a nervous laugh, "Oh it's you, Fratello." he cleared his throat once more, "Are you finished for today?"

"Yeah I just managed to escape before another one of those morons decided to ask a stupid question." Lovino muttered, slurping coffee on the other end of the line, "Why is it so quiet there?"

"What?"

"Quiet. I can't here anything, where are you?" Lovino asked rather viciously, "You are at work, aren't you?"

"Of course." Feliciano replied meekly, "I'm on a break."

"It still sounds oddly quiet even on your break." Lovino drawled, and Feliciano could tell his brother's teeth were beginning to clench.

"There's no one else in here." Feliciano said dismissively, his jaw still quivering slightly, "Just me."

"Okay." Lovino didn't sound convinced, "I was thinking of getting a pizza tonight, we don't have any cheese in otherwise I'd make it myself, what kind do you want?"

"Um..." Feliciano was genuinely contemplating what toppings he might like when he caught a glimpse of flashing blue lights pulling up outside the house through the heavily veiled windows.

"Well?" Lovino pressed.

Feliciano's heart stopped. "Uh, anything, I have to go."

"What, why? What's wrong, Feliciano?"

Feliciano hurried slipped the photograph into his back pocket, having to make several attempts as the tremors in his hands increased substantially. Outside a man and a woman in dark blue uniforms had left the vehicle and were approaching the house. "Nothing, I need to go back to work." Feliciano managed to keep his voice steady and hung up even before Lovino could answer. The young man held his breath, his feet were rooted to the floor; someone had called the police on him, they were here to arrest him.

Feliciano had a brief insane idea of leaping from the window and making a run for it but knew it was pointless. He decided to accept the inevitable and let himself be taken away, there was no other way out. The officers found him in his grandfather's bedroom and calmly told him to come quietly, Feliciano complied, yet felt that the handcuffs were a little unnecessary. Feliciano recognised the female officer as the same one who had arrested him last year for the same reason, she smiled sadly at him from the rear view mirror as her colleague drove them down to the police station.

She spoke into the car's radio for a moment and then turned around in her seat. "An investigator at the station wants to speak to you." she told Feliciano.

Feliciano's lips curled sightly in an attempted smile. "I know." he muttered weakly, his fingers knotted together uncomfortably and he glanced out of the window as they were leaving Roe Lane, trying to find the culprit for his capture.

In just under an hour the Italian found himself sat in a dark interrogation room, although he knew the reason for this was just procedure, in front of the tired and disappointed face of Arthur Kirkland.

"You can't keep doing this, Feliciano." the Brit sounded so exhausted, so finished.

"I don't go that much." Feliciano said defensively, yet his face was sliding down steadily to hide in the scarf still wrapped around his neck.

Arthur gave him a look, the same look he used to give him when he first came to know him as a small boy – pity. "I know you were there yesterday." he said softly after a while.

Feliciano's face reappeared and he stared at the older man in bewilderment. "How-"

"I heard the call about a trespasser on that residence," Arthur got to his feet and began slowly wandering around the small, box-shaped room. "and so I called the guy on patrol and told him it wasn't a priority...so by the time he actually got there you had already left. But I knew it'd be you, it always is." the Brit leant against the back wall, watching the young man carefully.

"Not always." Feliciano murmured, tucking his handcuffed wrists in between his knees.

"Now that there's nothing valuable left for thieves to steal it is." Arthur rubbed his eyes tiredly, and there was a long silence between them. "Feliciano," the older man moved towards him and leant down by his side like he was talking to a naughty child. "I understand it's difficult to stay away, I do...but you have to understand that that place is still a crime scene and probably always will be."

"But why?" Feliciano whined, playing his part as the child, "No one even goes there to investigate anymore."

"It doesn't matter, the case is still unsolved so we can't have anyone tampering with possible evidence." the Brit took a key from his belt and held out his hand for Feliciano's. "Even though you lived there that doesn't give you any more of a right to trespass than a stranger." he spoke gently and removed the handcuffs from the young man's wrists.

Feliciano rubbed the red marks left on his skin, "I don't think I could ever feel like a trespasser in my own home..."

Arthur smiled sadly and got to his feet. "I know what you mean. Now I've called your brother and he should be here soon to collect you. I'm sorry." he added when he saw the way Feliciano's face paled noticeably.

"He'll kill me." Feliciano muttered as he rose out of the plastic chair.

"If he does there'll be plenty of officers around to apprehend him." Arthur said with a slight chuckle, he led the young man out of the interrogation room to the main reception. Being only four in the afternoon the waiting room was relatively empty, just one or two people lingering around to visit their arrested relatives. Several police officers were milling about with paperwork and Arthur's detective partner Francis was stood by the front door watching the two of them approach.

The Frenchman pushed his long hair out of his face and shook his head, "Again, Feliciano?" he said to the young man as he took a seat in the waiting room.

"I've only been caught once before." Feliciano chided rather defensively.

"Leave off, Francis." Arthur scorned him, "He's had a hard time."

"'Avn't we all." Francis muttered before he glided off past the reception into the staffroom.

Arthur rolled his eyes, "Ignore him, seeing you just puts him in a funny mood."

"Oh." Feliciano frowned slightly.

"Not you specifically," Arthur said with reassurance, "you just remind him of your grandfather."

Feliciano nodded yet he wasn't quite sure what the man meant. Before he had a chance to take the conversation further a familiar, angry face blazed through the glass door and almost knocked a police officer unconscious with the force with which it was forced open.

"Okay, where is the fucking idiot?" Lovino spat to the poor officer he'd startled, who was too taken back to answer.

"Lovino." Arthur called gently, waving him over to where they sat.

Lovino ignored the Brit and homed directly in on his brother; a woman sat near Feliciano got up and moved away swiftly as the enraged Italian stormed up to his sibling. "Well?" he snarled, bracing his hands either side of Feliciano's chair so he couldn't escape.

Feliciano's lip quivered and he struggled to find words, "...s-sorry." he squeaked out after a few moments, unable to look his brother in the eye.

"Sorry?" Lovino howled with laughter of disbelief, "After finding out you went there YESTERDAY, and telling you to stay away, you go there the next fucking day and all you can say is sorry!?"

"Lovino," Arthur placed a tentative hand on the man's shoulder, "we're not going to press any charges, okay? It's fine."

"Well maybe you should press charges!" Lovino snapped, standing up straight and throwing the Brit's hand back, "At least it would teach him to stop going where he's not supposed to go!"

"Lovino, I know you want to go back too!"

Lovino and Arthur and even a couple of onlookers turned to stare at Feliciano, not expecting any kind of assertion from the young man. The older sibling slowly leant back down, glaring into his brother's eyes. "What did you say?" he said calmly, a dark look forming on his face.

Feliciano swallowed, but kept his brother's gaze. "I know you want to go home too, you miss it just as much as I do...and I know you miss him." he whispered as loud as he dared, his vision beginning to distort from unshed tears.

Lovino's mouth gaped open to speak but snapped shut moments later. The Italian slowly retracted and took a step back; Feliciano couldn't see his brother's face clearly, but he had a feeling his eyes were also beginning to moisten. Lovino turned around and ran a hand through his dark hair. "Leave it alone, Feliciano...hasn't he hurt us enough already?"

"Not enough to give up on him." Feliciano looked to Arthur and took a deep breath, "Arthur, I would like you to re-open the investigation into my grandfather's disappearance."

"What?" it was the Brit and his brother who had spoken, staring at the young man in disbelief.

"Feliciano," Arthur began carefully, "we have no leads to follow, the case dried up-"

"Why are you doing this?" Lovino snarled, whirling back around to face Feliciano, "Why are you trying to bring that monster back into our lives? He's gone, he's dead, accept it!"

"Fratello-"

"Let it go, Feliciano." Lovino said firmly, his voice deep and unsettling. The Italian grit his teeth, spun back around and moved hastily towards the exit, only turning around once more to yell, "Let HIM go!" before finally leaving through the glass door, tears pouring down his face.

A long silence followed his brother's departure. Slowly the reception began to restart, officers carried on their work and Arthur detached himself from the wall. "Were you serious, Feliciano?" he asked quietly.

Feliciano looked up at the Brit and nodded. "Yes."

Arthur sighed, "They won't be happy..." he muttered more to himself than anyone else, he helped the young man to his feet as his legs were trembling slightly from the outburst. The Brit smiled wearily, "I'll need to make some phone calls, do you want to wait in the staffroom?"

Feliciano beamed brightly and grabbed hold of the older man, hugging him tightly as tears began to seep from his eyes. "Yes."

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**Hey guys, sorry for the long wait I've been busy over the summer but hopefully I'll get back on track now. Also you may have noticed a little inconsistency with the number of years (which have now been changed) but that was due to me making a huge mistake and not spotting it so please bear with me and my idiocy :) anyway I hope you're enjoying, there may be a little Spamano added later on and possibly a couple more pairings so let me know how you're liking it so far**

**Reviews are love :)**


	4. Chapter 4

**Title: Play the Part  
****  
Pairings: Germany/Italy, one-sided Germania/Rome**

****It was nine years ago that Feliciano lost his grandpa, and nine years since his brother last cracked a smile. Now the past has come back to haunt them, and Feliciano realises just how big it really is; could this man with blond hair he keeps seeing in his dreams and in photographs be the key to his grandpa's disappearance? ****

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Feliciano didn't feel real. He wouldn't have suspected for a moment when he was woken so irksomely that morning that he would be sat inside the staffroom of his local police station, sipping coffee with trembling hands - that had been reluctantly made for him by a French detective-, waiting to hear the fate of his request. His old friend, Arthur, was busy in the office finding out from his superiors whether or not his grandfather's disappearance would be re-investigated. The Italian's stomach was squirming so violently he could barely sit still in the uncomfortable, plastic chair.

Beside the sink making another mug of coffee after having to begrudgingly relinquish his own to Feliciano; Francis stood silently, watching the coffee machine working. Feliciano had always found it difficult to make small talk with the man. Whilst having known him just as long as Arthur, Francis had never taken a shine to him in quite the same way the Brit had. The Italian made sure to show his appreciation for the coffee that Arthur had forced Francis to give him, but glanced away awkwardly when he realised that his unnecessary slurping sounds were giving the impression of victory over him.

Francis rolled his eyes and finally turned to face the young man, "I could 'ear your brother screaming at you out there from in 'ere you know." he told him.

Feliciano smiled weakly, warming his fingers around the mug. "I'm sorry, I should have gone outside...I knew how angry he'd be." he said sheepishly, he was still a little red in the face from arguing with his sibling.

"Is that why you're still 'ere?" Francis asked dryly, "Surely it wasn't that traumatic."

"I'm not here because of that." Feliciano said a little defensively, his brother certainly could be mean, but he wasn't physically afraid of him.

"Oh?" the Frenchman pushed back his wavy hair and quickly secured it in a small, loose ponytail, "Arthur just wants you around, does he? Why don't you two make your little dates for when we're not on duty?" his tone was sharp and stung with what Feliciano could vaguely pick up as concealing undertones of jealousy.

Quite what Francis was implying Feliciano couldn't fathom, but knew he'd better straighten it out lest the man grow to resent him more. "I'm just waiting to see what the higher up people say about looking for my grandfather again, Arthur's calling them now." he said calmly; the Brit had rushed off so suddenly to get hold of them he hadn't mentioned it to his partner.

The Italian very soon discovered why that might have been the case. Francis, who was just in the process of retrieving his drink, had dropped the steaming mug at the young man's words effectively dousing the worktop in hot coffee and smashing the crockery to bits on the floor. Feliciano jumped violently at his initial assumption that the man's actions were deliberate, as if Francis had hurled his coffee to the floor in unexplained rage.

For a few moments the two men were silent, save for Francis' rather heavy breathing. He made a couple of attempts to retrieve his broken mug but fell short each time he tried to lean down, having to grip the soaking worktop for leverage and pull himself back up.

Feliciano gripped tightly onto the drink in his hands. "Francis?" he asked concernedly.

"...they're starting the search again?" The man croaked softly, the top of his head lightly resting against the cupboard in front of him.

Feliciano watched him silently for a few moments, he was so confused and uncertain. "They might be, I don't know...Francis, what's wrong?"

Francis let out a shuddering sigh and leant right back with his hands gripping the top of the worktop, "I can see why your brother was yelling at you." he muttered.

"Feliciano I-oh...what happened here?" Arthur had just emerged into the staffroom and caught sight of the mess Francis had made on the counter and the floor. He glanced from his partner to the Italian sat rigidly at the table, "Is everything alright?" he asked the Frenchman.

"Oui, I'm going back to the office." Francis' tone couldn't be deciphered by Feliciano, he sounded cold and distant yet completely detached as if they hadn't spoken at all. He brushed passed Arthur and disappeared from the staffroom as quickly as the Brit had materialised, snapping the door shut behind him.

Arthur gazed at the door for a brief moment before drawing his attention back to Feliciano, "What happened?" he asked.

"I just told him what you were doing and he went all quiet and strange." Feliciano answered shortly, feeling rather at fault.

"And smashed my favourite bloody mug to bits." Arthur huffed, grabbing a cloth from the side and dabbing at the dripping remains. "Didn't I say not to mention the request to anyone until I had an answer?"

"I didn't think it would matter if it was Francis," Feliciano said quietly, "I'm sorry...I mean you two were actually working on the investigation when it was on-going so I thought he'd want to know. I didn't think he'd react so strangely." the Italian got to his feet and helped the Brit clean up.

Arthur sighed, retrieving a dust pan and brush from the cupboard. "Feliciano, you really don't understand what kind of relationship your grandfather had with Francis and I, do you?" the man said gently, sweeping around their feet.

Feliciano took the cloth and soaked up the coffee all over the counter. "I know you must have worked with him...or around him, if not with him."

Arthur stood up with a disgruntled noise and emptied the crockery into the bin. "You have no idea..." he said, his forehead creasing. He gazed at the young man for a little while, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Come with me, I want to show you something."

Feliciano looked at him curiously, the older man put the dust pan and brush back in the cupboard and took him out of the staffroom and into the main office. A few odd glances were thrown Feliciano's way but with Arthur leading him diligently no one voiced a word of protest to his presence.

Rows of desks filled with busy officers typing away furiously lined the room, others were stood in small groups chatting amongst themselves quietly with coffee in their hands. Francis was stood by himself seemingly transfixed by a case file in his hands but his soft, blue eyes were still and unmoving as he gazed at the sheet in front of him.

Arthur manoeuvred his way around the desks and, thankfully, kept far away from his partner; he led Feliciano to the back wall which was lined with framed photographs of all the station's staff and had a notice board covered with pinned up wanted posters. The Brit scanned the wall for a moment before he stopped at a long, horizontal frame. Feliciano stepped closer to see where the man was pointing at the photo in question.

It was a group portrait taken outside of the station, there must have been over a hundred people stood in rows smiling at the camera, all police officers or investigators. He could spot Arthur and Francis almost immediately at the front, stood side by side. The photo, according to the date at the bottom, was taken twelve years ago; the two investigators looked so young. Arthur's hair was so unkempt and long, and he looked so small in his ill-fitting suit, like he had just been placed in a costume and shoved into the photograph without knowing what was going on. Francis looked far too casual for the job he had, his facial hair was patchy like he'd woken from a heavy night of drinking. His blond hair, much longer than Arthur's, was hanging down over his shoulders and he wasn't even wearing a suit.

Feliciano merely smiled at the frame, not really understanding what he was supposed to be looking for. To his complete surprise; the young man had completely disregarded the man in the photograph standing just beside Francis on his other side, he'd barely recognised him. It was his grandfather. Significantly younger, just like the two officers beside him, but still much older than them, more like how Arthur looked now. He was grinning that same broad smile Feliciano always saw in the rare captured moments he had of the man. His dark brown hair, which was lightly curled, bounced jovially around his ears; deep creases wrinkled his brow and the corners of his warm eyes, even at that age.

Feliciano's chest squeezed rather uncomfortably to see the picture, it was not often the young man was witness to his grandfather's line of work. He had been what Arthur is now, an investigator, before he disappeared.

"Your grandfather," Arthur started quietly, making the young man jump, "was a role model to Francis and I, particularly Francis." the older man's eyes glossed over with a kind of hollow sadness before returning to their normal blank stare.

Feliciano smiled weakly, his forehead creasing in a bemused fashion, "I didn't realise, I assumed he didn't speak much to either of you because of the age difference...I mean you two look so young here," he tapped the frame gently over the pair, "like you just started work that day."

"It practically was, I think this was taken just a few weeks after Francis and I had been paired up and assigned to this station." Arthur glanced over at his French companion and caught his gaze for just a moment before the man whipped back around to carry on burning a hole in the case file with his eyes. "But no, Romeo was determined to take us under his wing, show us the ropes and help us with our first few investigations...he was a good man." the Brit finished softly.

Feliciano always felt a strange sensation in his stomach to hear his grandfather's name. He tore his eyes away from the old photograph and he too, caught Francis watching them from over the top of the file in his hands. "He was extra close to Francis?" he asked.

Arthur nodded, "I think Francis grew attached to him mainly because they're both, you know, European." Feliciano found it almost comical the way the word sounded coming from the Brit's mouth, like a dirty word. "Francis was struggling, I think, being French and working in the UK, having another foreign investigator helped him a lot. He looked up to your grandfather like he was...like he was his own father, or an older brother."

Feliciano's heart tugged lightly and he rested his head gently against the wall beside the frame. "But...then why is he so funny about me wanting to re-open the investigation?" he mused, rolling over slowly to meet Arthur's gaze, "Doesn't he want to see him again just as much as me? If they were so close he must miss him, why doesn't he want to do everything possible to find him? Like he used to when you guys were searching for him..."

Arthur looked at him sadly, "Feliciano, you need to understand that in this line of work...trying to investigate cases that involve people you know personally only makes it that much harder, not easier." the Brit took a handkerchief out of his front pocket and handed it to the young man as his eyes began to water. He sighed, casting a weary glance back at Francis whose face was now concealed behind the file.

"Losing Romeo was a great blow to all of us," he said quietly after a few moments, "it broke everyone's hearts. Everyone in this station was so determined to work on the case, we all wanted to be the one to find him. It was assigned to Francis and I because it was assumed that we would have the greater advantage, knowing him as we did. We were both so pleased and relieved that it was us who were to find him, because we genuinely didn't trust anybody else with the task. Two years down the line and we had come up empty again and again. So many leads, so many raids but we never found a trace. It was draining, it was exhausting, not just physically but mentally too. Francis was going crazy, he was so upset and he was killing himself just thinking that he was letting Romeo down by not being able to find him."

"Eventually we had to stop looking; it was destroying our lives and we had other cases we needed to see to. It was a sad day, the day we stopped. Obviously we will always keep our eyes and ears open for any new potential leads but it was time to move on with our lives and our careers." Arthur's own eyes were glistening slightly as he straightened up, shaking his head minutely. "It was a choice neither of us wanted to make, Feliciano. We ran out of leads and we...we gave up. Now Francis turns into a mess whenever his name is mentioned and the idea of opening up the case again is too heart breaking for either of us to bear...to be perfectly honest with you, I'm quite glad the request was refused."

Feliciano listened to the investigator quietly, nodding along occasionally until the Brit went silent. "I understand." he said finally, "I don't know how you guys work, or what you do to search...but I do believe you guys did everything you could."

"We did, please keep believing that, Feliciano...I wish more than anything that the outcome had been different." Arthur murmured, running a hand through the back of his messy hair and closing his eyes.

Feliciano turned back to the portrait, staring along the rows of smiling faces, "If grandpa had had an investigator partner like you, I guess they would have been the one to go looking for him."

Arthur's face contorted into confusion and Feliciano gave him a perplexing look in return, "Romeo did have a partner, Feliciano." he said slowly, as if he were in disbelief at the young man's ignorance.

Feliciano stared at him, "He did? You mean like you and Francis?"

Arthur nodded slowly, his large eyebrows still furrowed deeply, "Yes of course, didn't you know?"

"No." Feliciano said softly, gazing into his grandfather's face, "He never talked about work...who was it?"

Arthur pointed to the photograph, on the top row, second from the end, far away from where Feliciano's grandfather was stood. "Him."

Feliciano retched, and Arthur jumped backwards in alarm. He asked if the Italian was okay but the young man couldn't speak. It was like a bad omen, it just wouldn't stop haunting him. The man from Feliciano's dreams, was also the man Arthur had pointed to in the photograph. Younger, perhaps, but undeniably him.

"Arthur…" Feliciano wheezed, shaking his head, "I think I know that man. That's the one you showed me a photo of, isn't it? When I was a child."

Arthur's face paled and he grabbed the young man around the shoulders, drawing him in so he could whisper in his ear, "Feliciano, what are you talking about?" the Brit sounded incredibly unnerved.

"It's the man from my dreams, the one you asked me about Arthur." Feliciano couldn't bear to see him in the same line up as the man currently with his arm around his shoulder, "He was grandpa's partner?"

"Feliciano, what's going on? You…" Arthur swallowed slightly, and glanced around the office, "…you told me you didn't know who he was. I asked you and your brother because it was vital to the case, why didn't you tell me back then?"

"It's vital? Why? Did he kidnap him?" Feliciano asked, unintentionally jabbing a harsh finger at the man in the frame, which wobbled dangerously.

"No, listen, Feliciano…" Arthur gave another worried glance to his surroundings, Francis was starting to look suspiciously over at them. "…he went missing the same time your grandfather did, we believe they were abducted or…or killed whilst working on a case together. Why didn't you tell me you knew him at the time?"

"Because I didn't, or I think I thought I didn't…I've just been seeing him everywhere recently."

"Like where?"

"In my dreams, and…" Feliciano dug his hand into his back pocket and produced the photograph he'd found at the house, "…here."

Arthur held the photo up to his face, "Where did you get this?" he asked in a strained voice.

"At home, I found it." Feliciano admitted.

Arthur shook his head, "Feliciano I really should confiscate this." He muttered before handing it straight back to the young man.

Feliciano put it away before he could change his mind. "Arthur."

"Yes?"

"Why wasn't I told about this?"

"What?"

Feliciano nodded to the framed staff picture, "That the man you were asking me about was grandpa's partner, that he was missing too. Why didn't you tell me?"

Arthur stared at him, "We couldn't possibly have revealed that kind of sensitive information about the case to you."

"I'm his grandson." Feliciano shot at him.

"You were a minor." Arthur stated plainly, "Had you revealed you knew the man things might have been different but there's no point getting into that now."

"What's his name?" Feliciano asked, not being able to help but notice the unusual wording Arthur was using to describe him.

"I don't remember now, his last name was…Beilschmidt, or something." Arthur seemed eager to finish the discussion, he checked his watch. "My break just started, I'll drive you home if you want…I have doubts that your brother waited for you outside."

Lovino, of course, hadn't waited. Feliciano was driven back to his flat in Arthur's police car and arrived home just before tea time. The Brit declined to answer any more of the young man's questions, stating plainly that, since the case wasn't to be re-opened, there was no use dwindling on it. Despite the harsh treatment he'd received from his brother at the station he was welcomed home with the delicious smell of freshly cooked paella. Strange, Feliciano thought as he took out his keys, Lovino hadn't made that for years.

"Hola Feliciano!" the young man was strung up into the strong embrace of Antonio Fernández Carriedo, who had flung the door open before he even had the chance to find the right key. Feliciano was tired, still in a state of distress and feeling rather melancholy; but he hugged the Spaniard tightly, glad to see him.

"Antonio," Feliciano wheezed out when the older man put him down, "what are you doing here?"

"Lovino called me." Antonio told him gently, his deep eyes softened and Feliciano understood.

The Italian's brother was by the kitchen counter, heaping paella into three bowls. He hadn't looked up at his brother's arrival.

Feliciano slowly approached and took a seat on one of the bar stools, "Lovino?"

The Italian dropped a bowl in front of Feliciano, and took a stool as far away from him as was possible. Antonio settled himself between them and tried to start polite conversation with Lovino, who grunted and growled his replies. Whilst it was an awkward situation to be in; Feliciano silently thanked the heavens that Antonio had showed up, to dispel what would have been an unbearable situation had it just been him and his brother alone in the flat.

Antonio had been Feliciano and Lovino's legal guardian following the disappearance of their grandfather nine years ago. Well, technically it was Antonio's father's name that was on the papers, but it was the young man who had suggested it and who really took care of the boys. His father had once been close to their grandfather, until the families grew apart over time. When Antonio had finished school and began training to be a teacher, he came to hear about their grandfather's disappearance. The young man had always been fond of the boys, he used to take them to the park when they were children and on more than one occasion offered to babysit…although Feliciano couldn't recall him ever doing so.

Antonio and his father came back into their lives when they heard that they were to be sent to a foster care home. With some persuasion from Antonio, his father spoke to the police and to the social care workers about becoming their legal guardian, to save them from being put in a home. It took a while. Feliciano and Lovino were in foster care for two months whilst they waited for all the paperwork to go through, and when it did Antonio became their legal brother and his father their own. However, Antonio less fit the role of brother and more surrogate father, he cared for them until the day Lovino turned eighteen.

Feliciano sometimes thought that they left Antonio's care a little prematurely, but Lovino was determined to be independent. He got a loan and help from the government and rented their first terrible apartment for him and his brother. There had been many terrible apartments including the one they were in now. Antonio visited on occasion, although Lovino often acted like this was a heavy burden. But he was always the first person he called when there was any tension between him and his brother.

"Lovino told me you've been back home." Antonio said quietly to Feliciano after a long silence; Lovino's fork clattered against the plate.

Feliciano smiled weakly, "I have…I've been doing a lot of thinking lately, Antonio, about grandpa."

Antonio smiled back but his brow creased with worry. "I see…Feliciano, it's been a very, very long time-"

"I want to find him, Antonio." Feliciano cut in before hearing the dreaded variation of; 'it's been almost a decade', 'let it go already'. From the other side of the table Lovino made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. He pushed himself away from the table and his half eaten food and got a beer out of the fridge, which he didn't normally drink. "I mean it, fratello." Feliciano continued.

"I don't doubt you do." Lovino snarled, he clinked the bottle against the side of the counter to break off the lid. "I just find it hard to understand why you'd want to see that bastard ever again."

"Lovino…" Antonio started gently, he tapped the seat next to him, "…sit back down, you shouldn't pace around like that."

"I'll do what I please." Lovino chided as he roamed up and down the kitchen, fixing his brother with a cold stare. "Just tell me why, Feliciano. Why the hell do you care so damn much?"

"He's our grandfather." Feliciano stated firmly.

"He's a monster." Lovino hissed, "A dead one at that."

Feliciano was on his feet as an automatic reflex. Antonio also stood, prepared to hold the man back but Lovino didn't even flinch. "What? Was something I said a lie?" he sneered, taking a large chug of beer. Feliciano remained silent and slowly sunk back to his seat. Antonio eventually joined him when he was certain a fight had been avoided. Lovino didn't return to his food, he finished his beer and headed immediately to bed. Without thinking about what he might start, Feliciano swiveled around on his stool and called after him.

"Everyone deserves a second chance, fratello."

Lovino stopped, his hand pressed against the doorframe. "He had so many chances, Feliciano…" he said coldly, not looking up. "…how many times are you going to let him break your heart?" the Italian disappeared to bed, leaving Feliciano and Antonio alone with the soft hum of the kitchen.

Feliciano stared intently at his brother's closed door. "I don't care." He muttered

"What?" Antonio looked up.

"I'm going to find him." Feliciano said, determined. He began to eat again, his hand trembling slightly when he raised his fork. "If the police won't help I'll do it myself, I need to know what happened. I'll…I'll never be happy until I do."

Antonio nodded unsurely, "I guess I understand…how exactly are you going to go about finding him?"

Feliciano opened his mouth to take a bite, his fork hovering hesitantly in front of his face.

"I've got no idea."

* * *

**I can not apologise enough for how long I have taken to update this story. It was last updated in August so that does seem to correlate with the fact that I've since started university but still I apologise for anyone who has been waiting for an update. I can't promise that the updates will come fast, but I will try to get them out much quicker this time (seriously it's been months I'm a terrible person).**

**So for anyone whose still reading this, here ya go**

**Reviews are love :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**Title: Play the Part  
****  
Pairings: Germany/Italy  
**

****It was nine years ago that Feliciano lost his grandpa, and nine years since his brother last cracked a smile. Now the past has come back to haunt them, and Feliciano realises just how big it really is; could this man with blond hair he keeps seeing in his dreams and in photographs be the key to his grandpa's disappearance?****

* * *

Feliciano woke from his restless night feeling oddly transparent. He'd felt this way for a long time now; it was an odd feeling. It was like he was detached from reality, not really living just kind of existing. The young man thought it might have something to do with his age. After turning eighteen he began to become concerned for his future, for what he was going to do for the rest of his life. Would he be stuck working in the café forever? Would he ever start a family of his own? Would Lovino? These sorts of questions had been plaguing him for months now. Part of the reason he wanted to find his grandfather seemed to stem from these worries. Although he hated to admit it, he just badly needed someone to take care of him. Someone other than Lovino.

"I don't see why you're taking Feliciano's side, Antonio."

Feliciano lifted his head at the mention of his name. He could hear shuffling and the clinking of mugs coming from the kitchen, soft murmurs were getting gradually louder. The young man sat up and scrubbed his heavy-lidded eyes. His brother's voice was stabbing the walls repeatedly and he got up and crept to the door to listen to what was being said. Feliciano opened the door a tiny fraction and peered out.

Lovino was pacing in that antsy way he often did when speaking about his brother. Antonio was pouring coffee, running his hands stressfully through his matted hair.

"I don't take sides, Lovino. I just…" Antonio sighed, he had had this conversation a thousand times. "…I think you sometimes forget everything your grandfather went through-"

"What HE went through?" Lovino thundered, he reached for the coffee pot but Antonio snatched it away before he could do any damage. The Italian snarled, grabbed the back of his neck and almost threw himself down onto the table. "I can't believe you just said that." he hissed.

"I'm not defending what he did," Antonio assured him, "I just think that…the circumstances he was in, again I'm not defending it!" he added when Lovino shot him daggers. "He was not a good guardian to you guys, I know that."

"Understatement of the fucking century." Lovino growled, lifting his head up off the table. "He left us, alone. Two little kids alone in a house, sometimes for days! It's just…it's not acceptable!"

"He had a stressful job-"

"So that makes it okay!?" Lovino demanded, "You offered to babysit! I remember, but he refused to let you, why?"

"I don't know, Lovino." Antonio said softly. He pushed himself back from the table and got to his feet. "There's a lot of things I wish I knew about your grandfather's decisions, but you need to remember what happened to him."

"You always have to play the mediator don't you." Lovino said scornfully, but accepted the hand on his shoulder from the older man.

Antonio smiled, and pulled him into a sideways hug. Lovino stiffened slightly but didn't pull away. "I will never defend his actions, Lovino," he said into his ear, "but your grandfather was under a lot of stress and pressure I hope you remember that." The young man didn't respond. "Lovino, you lost your parents. But you need to remember that your grandfather lost his daughter and his son-in-law…and then he was just handed his two young grandchildren to be responsible for when he'd spent so many years just dedicated to his work." Antonio pressed his face into Lovino's hair, feeling the slight tremors coming from the shorter man. "He made mistakes and I understand why you're angry, but you can't blame Feliciano for wanting to know what happened to him."

Lovino rubbed the back of his hand across his cheeks. "Yeah I get it, but Feliciano is going too far. I went to pick him up from the police station yesterday for fuck sake! Who knows how far he'll go chasing this." he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I have to go to work, make sure Feliciano gets up, okay?"

Antonio nodded, "I will, have a good day, Lovino." he watched the Italian grab his things and leave, but not before he was given a grateful nod before the door shut behind him.

Feliciano only came out of his room when he was certain Lovino had gone downstairs. Antonio looked up and smiled, "Hey Feliciano, good sleep?"

The Italian nodded, "Sì, grazie, you?"

"Sí." Antonio poured two mugs of coffee and brought one over to Feliciano. "I hope we didn't wake you just then."

"Maybe, I needed to be up anyway." Feliciano said giving Antonio a reassuring smile. He sipped coffee for a while with the older man whilst they sat in silence until he checked his watch.

"I've got to go." Antonio sat up, he grabbed the jeans that were folded over the back of the sofa and pulled them on. "Thanks for letting me stay last night, I hate driving in the dark."

"Antonio you're practically our dad." Feliciano took his empty mug from him as he got up from the sofa. "You don't need to ask to stay, you're always welcome."

Antonio beamed, "That's sweet of you…I really hope things get better between you and your brother."

Feliciano nodded, "Don't worry it'll be fine…I just won't mention it to him again even while I'm searching." his voice was uncertain even as he attempted to reassure him.

Antonio smiled at him with just a touch of pity. "That's probably for the best…good luck with the search, I hope it all goes well for you."

"Do you think I'll find him?" Feliciano asked his friend, catching his eyes.

Antonio's gaze averted a little too quickly, "I…I don't know Feliciano."

"But you hope I do, right?"

"Well…" the older man dithered on the spot, he began to gather his things together.

Feliciano put his coffee to one side. "You agree with Lovino, don't you," he murmured, "you think we're better off without him."

Antonio bit his lip, hitching his bag up onto his back. "I just think that your life doesn't necessarily need him, Feliciano." he spoke with real sincerity, placing a gentle hand on the young man's arm. "You're an adult now, you have a job and a home, you're ready to start your life in full and I just feel like this…" he waved his hand around to indicate something, "…is just going to hold you back, maybe some things are better in theory than in practice."

Feliciano regarded his words, he wasn't insulted or wavered, and if anything he appreciated the honesty. He patted the hand still resting on his shoulder. "Apart from you and Lovino, grandpa is the only family I have…it's just really important to me, Antonio, even if I never find him I just…I need to know what happened, I just don't think I can ever feel normal again until I do."

Antonio gave an uncertain smile, "Well, good luck Feliciano. I promise I won't leave it too long next time before I come to see you guys." he gave the young man a tight hug before he had to leave for work. Feliciano was left alone in the flat as he was most mornings. But somehow he felt much lonelier than usual. Thoughts about his next move kept him rooted to his spot on the floor, his coffee gradually went cold in his hands. He hadn't really considered how to proceed with his mission. Arthur wasn't going to help, he'd made that perfectly clear, and there wasn't a chance in hell he was going to reveal any confidential detective information that might help him.

On the drive back to his flat last night; Arthur had given Feliciano slight details about where his and Francis' investigation had taken them and where it ended. He told him that his grandfather and his partner were working five cases before they went missing. Arthur and Francis followed the leads of each one in an attempt to locate them, two of which they managed to solve and bring to a close during the process. But no trace of either his grandfather or the blond man were found. The remaining three cases were put on hold, and their investigation into the disappearance came to an end.

Had Arthur permitted him to have access to these unsolved cases; Feliciano would have started his search there. Work his way through each one, as Arthur and Francis had done, and try to find his grandfather in the process. Obviously there was the ever niggling feeling that told him that, if two professional investigators hadn't managed to track him down, he wouldn't have a chance. But Feliciano was willing to try. He was willing to try anything.

Feliciano decided not to dwell too much for the moment, he was late for his shift. By the time he reached the café Elizaveta was already a little frazzled by the morning rush of weary bankers coming in for their morning coffee. The young man's appearance was welcomed with alleviation by his manager, he was thrown into an apron upon immediate arrival and thrust into the busy fray. In just two hours he'd served countless lattes, espressos, chocolate chip muffins to all manner of sleep-deprived customers or upbeat teenagers skipping school.

After the rush passed and the stream of people became mere dribs and drabs reoccurring every fifteen minutes or so, Feliciano could let himself think again. After approximately thirty seconds of this the young man went into the display fridge at the front of the counter and began rearranging the cakes. This was fast becoming a problem. He couldn't think about his situation for very long before becoming anxious and uncertain and hurriedly trying to distract himself. He wasn't going to have an easy task.

"Something on your mind, Feliciano?" Elizaveta said, popping up over the counter; a startled Feliciano knocked his head on the top of the fridge in response. "Oh, sorry honey!" she laughed slightly, "I didn't mean to frighten you."

"It's okay," Feliciano smiled, rubbing the back of his head as he came back up, "I'm fine, I just had a long day yesterday, that's all."

"Is that right?" Elizaveta reached over the front of the counter and helped herself to a blueberry muffin. "Did you get up to much after work?"

Feliciano feigned slapping her hand and she grinned. "Um," he shrugged, "I may have ended up in the police station yesterday."

Elizaveta paused mid-bite, crumbs tumbled down her chin, "Oh Feliciano," she slurred, swallowing her mouthful, "not again."

"I know," Feliciano sighed, "I couldn't help myself."

"You'll get yourself a serious criminal record one of these days." Elizaveta warned him, wiping her face on the end of her apron. "Then who'll give you a job after you've left this place?"

"Who says I'll ever leave?" Feliciano muttered a little more harshly than he realised. He bit his lip, "Sorry, I didn't mean that as a bad thing."

"Don't be silly," Elizaveta dismissed although she seemed stung, "a young lad like you doesn't want to be stuck working in a café his whole life, you'll move on to bigger and better things."

Feliciano smiled, his hand drumming a soft beat atop the counter. "I hope so."

"You'll do fine." Elizaveta beamed at him just as an elderly gentleman in a long trench coat shuffled his way into the café. She disappeared into the back room and left Feliciano to carry on with his work.

"Hello Sir, what can I get for you?" Feliciano asked with his customer service smile.

The gentleman gave a dry cough and pointed a shaky hand towards the board behind Feliciano. "Pot of tea, please." he wheezed.

"Of course." Feliciano took a tray off the pile and set about serving the decrepit man when a streak of pale yellow caught his eye as it passed by the café window.

The delicate crockery pot slipped from his fingers and smashed to pieces on the floor. Everyone sat on the ground floor looked up curiously; the old man leapt back in fright and Elizaveta came out of the back room to see what had happened. Feliciano could hear his manager asking him if he was okay and what had happened but he didn't answer her. Outside on the pavement, stopped just beside the café and clearly visible through the window, was his grandfather's partner.

So it seemed. The resemblance was uncanny. Same height, face, eyes, light blond hair…Feliciano couldn't move, he could only stare at this man, the man he was certain he had once met. The man who was supposed to have disappeared years ago. He was checking his watch, and glanced up into the café and caught Feliciano's stare. The blond man seemed confused at first, then his eyes widened and he took off at a tremendous speed. He vanished from the window in a millisecond.

"Feliciano, what's wrong honey?" Elizaveta tried again, the entire café was watching him.

Feliciano ran. He swung his legs up over the counter like he was running a hurdle track and burst outside onto the streets to go after the blond man. It might not be him, he might be going crazy and seeing him in the faces of others but he had to be sure. Feliciano passed the café and carried on straight, pushing through the mills of people around him. Up ahead he could see the blond head standing out amongst the sea of brunette ones; the man glanced back, saw Feliciano and broke out into a sprint.

Feliciano had never been that fast, but the adrenaline pushed him forward, he kept up the chase with this possible lead for almost a full minute. They kept along the straight road almost all the way into the main town, dodging everyone in his wake. Feliciano was too preoccupied gasping in air to call out to the man. A woman with a pram turned a corner and collided directly into Feliciano's legs, tripping him into the road. He could recall her yelling at him despite the fact that the baby didn't even wake at the motion. Feliciano had scrambled to his feet intent on continuing the chase but the man was gone. He had turned off somewhere and vanished.

Tired and sweaty, Feliciano returned with trembling legs to the café. He had some answering to do for Elizaveta, who was far more concerned than annoyed. Feliciano managed to mumble something about thinking he'd seen his grandfather and went back to work. The old man had left.

**~0~**

"I swear it was him, Arthur." Feliciano's voice shook with his nerves, he had to hold his arm steady as he spoke to the man down the phone.

A deep sigh answered him. "I highly doubt that, Feliciano."

"Arthur, please listen!" Feliciano begged, "I saw him, it was him! He looked exactly like the photograph, he was just standing there outside the café."

"Feliciano," Arthur's voice was strained, "first of all, you shouldn't be calling me on my personal mobile whilst I'm at work." the Brit hurried into the staffroom away from prying colleagues. "Secondly, he's been missing for nearly a decade, Feliciano, he wouldn't look the same as he did in those photographs. You were just seeing things."

"I know what I saw," Feliciano was defiant, "it was him, Arthur, and he ran when he realised I was following him, how do you explain that?"

"Well I'd probably run too if someone was following me, it's a natural instinct." Arthur said, he covered his mouth with his hand when two officers joined him in the staffroom to get coffee. "I have to go, Feliciano, I'm sorry."

"Tell me what to do, should I try and find him tomorrow?" Feliciano pressed further as if the Brit hadn't responded.

"I doubt you'll see him again, Feliciano, I told you, you were just seeing things. If you do see that dead man again I suggest you find a therapist, immediately." Arthur gabbled his words in a rush and hung up before any suspicion could be drawn.

Feliciano was left holding his mobile, listening to the soft dial tone that let him know Arthur was gone. He had known it would be a long shot to get a decent answer from the man, it was clear he didn't have any particular interest in the case progressing any further. The Italian had considered bringing it up with his brother that night when he got home from work, but he remembered what he'd told Antonio, and thought better of it. He didn't want a repeat of the night before.

Lovino was just as quiet that evening as he had been during Antonio's visit. He didn't say anything to his brother short of 'Do you want some water?' and 'Pass the salt, please.' for the entire night. They ate together in uncomfortable silence with just the television providing a droning background noise. Feliciano didn't even have the nerve to ask about his day let alone bring up the possibility that he had seen his grandfather's supposedly missing partner.

Two weeks followed with little to no incident. Feliciano went into work every day, pulling extra shifts wherever he could and trying his best to make sure he was always working the front counter and never in the back room. All in the hope that he would catch a glimpse of the mysterious stranger who held the key. Elizaveta became concerned with Feliciano's distractedness. The young man spent every second he wasn't serving customers staring out of the window ahead of him. His eyes would flit from side to side with every passing individual, his heart would leap every time a blond man zipped past but he was always left disappointed.

It was only when Feliciano's mind was preoccupied on other things did he find himself exactly where he wanted to be. It was a Thursday afternoon and the young man was carrying a heavy bin bag outside to throw away, he was using the front entrance as opposed to the back - it was quicker this way - when he stepped right into the path of a passing gentleman.

"Oh, please excuse me-" Feliciano said hurriedly, he yelped and dropped the bag at the feet of the familiar stranger. The blond man's eyebrows shot upwards and he dodged out of Feliciano's way. The Italian's arm stretched out to grab him, "Wait!" the man had already begun to pelt down the pavement to get away from him.

Feliciano started the chase; the same route as last time but now he was slightly more prepared. The streets weren't as crowded this time, no mother and her child blocked Feliciano's path. They ran the same pursuit all the way into the main town, Feliciano hadn't made it this far last time. His sides ached with pain and he could feel his heart beat drumming in his head but he managed to keep pace with the blond man. He occasionally turned to check if Feliciano was still in pursuit but didn't slow even for a moment. Feliciano felt certain he would be the one to give up first if it continued for much longer, he was already half a mile or so from the café.

The man took a sharp left suddenly into an alley between a bar and an electronics shop; Feliciano followed and saw the man's head disappear down a steep set of stairs. He paused for breath for a moment before charging up to the stairs; the man slipped into a narrow door at the bottom and clicked it closed behind him. Still panting, Feliciano followed. He didn't think he would be able to force the door open but, surprisingly, it hadn't been locked and he stepped inside.

Feliciano didn't even have a second to get his bearings on the place. It was dark. That's all he could recall before a tight cloth was wound over his face and neck. A strong arm constricted his body and he was dragged off his feet. Feliciano tried to scream but the pillowcase or whatever was around his face was pressing deep into his throat, almost cutting off his air supply. He arms flailed at his sides; Feliciano scrambled to grab hold of the arm keeping him up but it wouldn't give. His body was being moved, dragged along into this unknown place. Feliciano couldn't hear past the sound of his own heels squeaking across the concreate.

"What the hell is that?" a voice made Feliciano's heart lurch, it wasn't coming from the person holding him.

"This is the kid, the one I told you about." The one restraining Feliciano answered.

"The one who stole your lunch money?" the first voice mocked.

"No you Dummkopf, the one who was following me, the one who tried to run after me."

"Looks to me like he succeeded."

"Shut up."

The two voices were undeniably German. Feliciano's breathing was uneasy, his mind spinning and his body clenching. He felt so stupid. It was obvious that going down an alley into an unknown door was a stupid idea. He couldn't speak, even without the pillowcase he couldn't bring himself to address the man restraining him. He still didn't know if it even was the man he was looking for, what on earth had he been thinking? This was a million times more dangerous than venturing into an old house.

"Well what exactly do you want me to do about the guy, West? Want me to whack him?" Feliciano heard the unmistakable sound of a gun being fiddled with right in front of him, his reserve broke and he began to struggle.

"No, no please! This was just a misunderstanding!" Feliciano cried out, his voice was heavily muffled by the cloth but he thrashed desperately when he felt the cold barrel press into his temple. The arm clamping the pillowcase around his neck was released and seemed to push the gun away.

"Wait." The man holding him shifted, he yanked the pillowcase up above Feliciano's nose so his mouth was exposed. "What did you say?" the voice hissed in his ear.

Feliciano swallowed, his breathing was verging on hyperventilating. "This, this is just a misunderstanding, I, I thought you were someone I knew!" he begged, trembling in the man's grasp.

"Oh I'm sure." The second man cocked the gun in his hand. "Hold him still, West, I'll put it right between the eyes."

"No please!" Feliciano squeaked, shaking his head.

"Nein you Dummkopf!" the man known as West snapped, "Did you not hear him just then?"

"You seriously believe that? No one chases after someone they're not trying to kill."

"It's the truth!" Feliciano cried.

"Nein not that," the man holding him dismissed, "didn't you hear the accent? He's Italian."

"Oh so what he's Italian!" the other man droned, "You got a thing for them or something?"

"Don't be a fool," his companion growled, "how do we know he doesn't belong to an Italian mafia?"

The man cackled with laughter, a strange chortling sound. "This little wimp?" he pressed a clammy hand into Feliciano's cheek, he flinched.

"He could be a son or a nephew of the head Mafioso for all we know." The voice in Feliciano's ear glowered.

"Just 'cause he's Italian? West, there's like a million of 'em."

"I don't care, I'm not taking that chance, the last thing any of us need is the mafia on our backs."

"Oh please like they've even got a presence in the UK."

"They have a presence everywhere, we're not killing this kid." The man holding Feliciano loosened his arm slightly, and dragged the pillowcase back down over his mouth before he could respond.

The other man sighed, "Fine, what do we do then?"

"Knock him out, dump him somewhere and leave."

Feliciano let out a tiny squeak which went unheard over the other man's groan. "Seriously West? We have to relocate again just because this little punk found us?"

"He knows where we are, got any better ideas?" he demanded, "Without resorting to murder." He cut in before his boisterous companion could suggest it.

"Fine," he grumbled, "but I get to hit him."

Feliciano felt himself shift forwards and be bent over slightly. "Be my guest."

The last thing Feliciano could remember was the heavy blow of the back of a pistol being smashed into the base of his head. He hit the cold ground and blacked out, but not before hearing the very distant remnants of the man who had hit him warning the West guy to 'stay away from that café from now on.' Then everything went black. When Feliciano awoke he was in a different side alley almost two miles away, with a skull piecing headache and several bruises around his neck and arms. It took him a full three minutes to climb to his feet and he leant back against the wall for leverage.

Despite what he had heard in the two men's conversation; Feliciano ventured back to the alley he had almost been murdered in. The man hadn't asked who he was, hadn't demanded to know why he was being followed. It didn't make any sense. Feliciano made it back to the door in just under an hour. It was still unlocked. With a shaking hand he opened it a fraction, but heard nothing inside.

After a long while Feliciano built up his nerve and slid inside. He found himself stood in an empty warehouse. Whatever had been inside, it had been moved. The concrete floor was littered with darker spots where boxes or some kind of furniture had been hauled away. The room was empty, no one was here. It had been deserted.

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